The butler stood o’er the nephew, the wrinkles on his face contorting with shadows.
“I highly recommend you eat your spinach, Madame,” the butler said in a strained voice.
The nephew’s own face was contorted–but with sadness.
“I-I don’t want to…” she said.
“¿Why not?” The butler put knuckles down on the table just ‘side her. “It’s good for you.”
The nephew gripped the edge o’ the table, her knees shaking below.
Meanwhile, kilometers ‘way, Orval was racing down a highway, shades burning in the thick sunlight & teeth gritting as tightly as his pale fingers on the steering wheel.